


The Devil's Holed Up in Redcliffe

by Nomiliy



Category: Cirque du Freak | The Saga of Darren Shan - Darren Shan, Cirque du Freak: The Vampire's Assistant (2009), Darren Shan - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Bathroom Sex, Bottom Darren Shan, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Jealous Darren Shan, Light Bondage, M/M, Power Bottom Darren Shan, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Top Steve Leonard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22745182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomiliy/pseuds/Nomiliy
Summary: All Darren Shan wanted was a nice, quiet Valentine's weekend with his boyfriend.But Steve 'The Leopard' Leonard was theworstfucking boyfriend. He was a selfish, manic, anger-riddled prat that flirted with any walking pair of tits. And if they weren't dead across from Tommy and Alan at the bar, pretending to be anything other than lovers, Darren would sock him in the balls.But if that slag with the cheap parlor tattoos glanced at his man one more time, Darren Shan will damn the saints and go Old Testament on her face with a broken shot glass.“That iron tolerance failing you, Shan?” Steve cackled again, losing nearly half of his third Old Fashion over the rim with each jerky sway. “Or you jealous?”“Oh, definitely,” Darren snapped, “just positively green over here from all the jailbait they were too stupid to card drooling over your Jewish prick.”“Deepest apologies, mate,” he grinned, “maybe while I’m shaggin’ one of ‘em you can swoop in and comfort their poor, cryin’ beaus with your arse.”Darren went about nine shades of red ranging from ‘embarrassed’ to ‘furious.’Then the absolute evil laugh that rumbled out of Steve’s chest added the shade murderous.
Relationships: Steve "Leopard" Leonard & Darren Shan, Steve "Leopard" Leonard/Darren Shan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	The Devil's Holed Up in Redcliffe

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW CONTENT: This work contains explicit sex acts in an M/M relationship. It's very much a smut fic with a bit of the narrative focused on their relationship. I wouldn't call it just porn, but I wouldn't call it a PWP either.
> 
> Darren and Steve are both Juniors in University and have been together for the past few years. If you want to know how they originally got together, pop over to my long fic [Idiot Savant!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14936306/chapters/34604591)  
> I plan on completing the series by July, but a lot of the set-up and world-building (Darren's sexuality, Steve's relationship with his mum, what happens at the Cirque, etc.) is explained there. 
> 
> This is my first real attempt at 'smut,' so I appreciate any comments, critiques, or suggestions~!
> 
> Enjoy, you filthy animals :D

# The Devil’s Holed Up in Redcliffe

* * *

Darren Shan shot back the first half of his second Rob Roy. He had asked the bartender to pour boozy, be generous with the scotch, and cheap with the bitters.

But he wasn’t feeling a damn thing.

The night was still young by university and baby-alcoholic standards, but he desperately wished his tolerance was lower. Maybe then he’d forget the absolute hellscape this day had become.

He found himself in a musty corner booth of Seven Star Pub in Redcliffe. It was Saturday night, approximately 11:15 pm —peak pub crawl hours—and not even the bar’s basement lighting and thick, cancerous clouds of Newport smoke could hide his crumbling disposition. Smashed between grimy leather upholstery and Steve Leonard’s grimy leather jacket with barely legal freshers from Bristol University and Chelsea fans screaming their heads off over missed goals was not how Darren envisioned his Valentine’s eve.

But what can you do when the love of your life is an arsehole?

Honestly, Darren was more surprised by the fact that Tom Jones and Alan Morris even wanted to go out tonight. It made sense for Tom since this was the first Valentine’s in two years that he’d be alone. But Alan was so married to his studies at Bath University he barely had time for anything that wasn’t lizard scale samples.

But when the redhead texted Steve and Darren about cheering up their mate, Steve being the good friend he rarely is, answered for them— _as if they didn’t already have plans!_

Darren cursed Tommy’s superstar status. If not for Tom Jones, the four would have never gotten a table. But as the star goalie for Bath’s football club, Jones and company enjoyed pseudo-celebrity perks after rumor got round that Chelsea, Manchester United, _and_ Tottenham were scouting him.

Darren wanted nothing more than to go home to their little flat and roll between the sheets with his handsome Jewish boyfriend. Instead, he sipped on weak cocktails and silently glared at said handsome prick.

Steve sat on the outside of the booth with his arm spread over the back. His legs mirrored the care-free stance and took up most of the real estate underneath the table as well. His face held a gentle flush that colored the top of his broad chest. He was already intoxicated; the fact that he chose stout drinks only hammed up his low tolerance.

Darren occasionally felt his thigh rub against his own, as if to say “ _sorry, babe”_ without having to out themselves to Tom and Alan. Or without having to apologize or admit he was a jerk.

Darren sat closer than he knew he should for public outings. He found himself, at times, resting his head atop a built arm or leaning into the partly open embrace despite Alan and Tom chatting across from them. But Seven Star was so crowded, and the February winds stuck to his bones in a perpetual chill. How could he not cuddle up with that platinum blond devil?

He told himself that the guys would think it a consequence of too many drinks, the cold, and the fact that Steve had virtually no sense of personal space.

With how Tom barreled through his third pint of Guinness and Alan nursing his watered-down rum and coke, he doubt they’d notice.

Darren and Steve had managed to keep their friends and family out of the loop for the past few years. Not by fear of rejection from the community at large, but more so by anything interrupting their routine. Steve was convinced that Alan and Tom wouldn’t treat them the same if they knew; they would tiptoe around the subject, give them glances every time they did something remotely ‘cute,’ buy them those stupid ‘His & His’ coffee cups and towels that Steve just _loved_ to pitch a fit about every time they popped up in his recommended search history.

_“Are you searching for this shit, Dare?!”_

They had their fair share of rows, but whether to tell their friends was always an all-out battle. Usually, it would end with Steve storming out of the flat to cool off with a smoke. He’d come back after an hour or so, curl up with Darren in bed, and give a quick apology shag before passing out for the night. Honestly, it was a routine that Darren thoroughly enjoyed.

The platinum blond terror had calmed down quite a bit since they got together, mellowed by domestic bliss and brain-frying university life to cause much trouble. He didn’t throw things like when he was a teenager, he talked his feelings out (for the most part), him and his mum were on _wonderful_ terms, and he kept up with his aggression therapy after all these years.

But Steve was still, as Officer Crawley put it, ‘a bloody menace.’

Now, Steve didn’t do anything to get himself arrested anymore (like attempted arson, public battery, and joyriding) but he was still a _royal git._ Which was particularly infuriating with Steve being so bloody charming _._ The way he belted _Black Sabbath_ and _Metallic_ in that crooning baritone on the train, how he didn’t give a rat’s arse about the sideways glances, how he re-enacted whole scenes of _An American Werewolf in London_ right down to the American accent and blood-chilling howl in the dead of night stalking Kings Street.

Darren always thought Steve would’ve made a spectacular actor. He had the face, the smooth vocals that were damn sinful in Yiddish, the body— _Lord, his pecs and arms!_ — a flair for melodramatics, a sharp grin, but yet a soft smile, a _real smile_ that he’d toss over the kitchen counter while nuking a box of hot pockets at 3:00 A.M. or when he’d roll over in bed and pull Darren tight to his chest just to smile into his neck and grind his morning wood into—

“Think that girl’s got the look on you, Steve,” Alan noted over his straw before sucking down the last of his rum and coke.

Darren’s blood flared through his cheeks in a rolling boil. He didn’t even try to hide behind his jumper sleeve.

Tommy’s perked expression and sharp, goalie-box trained eyes revved on him. “Oi, what’s with the face, Darren?” he asked with some frothy head caught in his baby-stache.

His ex Sharona hated that fuzzy upper lip, but now that she was gone, Darren noted, Tommy let that, and a _multitude_ of other things, slip. His ash-brown crew cut had gone shaggy along with his untrimmed whiskers. He reeked of the field, he developed dark bags under his eyes, and he never seemed to have a clean shirt.

Steve glanced at the flush on Darren’s cheeks, then made a clipped, rolling cackle low in his throat. His shoulder lazily bumped the black-haired Irishmen, and Darren just _knew_ he was bloody smashed.

“That iron tolerance failing you, Shan?” Steve cackled again, losing nearly half of his third Old Fashion over the rim with each jerky sway. “Or you _jealous_?”

“Oh, definitely,” Darren snapped, “just positively _green_ over here from all the jailbait they were too stupid to card drooling over your Jewish prick.”

“Deepest apologies, mate,” he grinned, “maybe while I’m shaggin’ one of ‘em you can swoop in and comfort their poor, cryin’ beaus with your arse.”

Darren went about nine shades of red ranging from ‘embarrassed’ to ‘furious.’

Then the absolute evil laugh that rumbled out of Steve’s chest added the shade _murderous_.

He saw Tom go red from secondhand embarrassment, and Alan wouldn’t make eye contact over the rim of his glass. On top of the guys not knowing about their relationship, they also had no idea that Steve wasn’t completely straight. Darren could gather what this looked like: Childhood best friends having a go at each other and one going _way_ over the line. But if they knew what this was (a closeted bi-man hamming up his straight-schtick) then maybe they’d feel a bit of pity.

But all Darren could feel was rage.

“You’re sloshed, Steve,” Darren downed the last of his Rob Roy in a smooth toss. “Maybe you should slow down before you get yourself killed.” 

“Think I’m a shot away from that,” Steve said with a shake of his now empty glass. “Hey,” he called over the throngs of people, “in the _Megadeath_ jumper!”

The waitress, a thin woman with fake tits that could double as floaties when the breeze knocked her imbalanced arse into the Thames, glanced the boys’ way.

She nearly dropped.

Darren gave himself an aneurysm suppressing an eye roll. _Yes, Stephen Ezekiel ‘The Leopard’ Leonard was bloody **fit;** get it together and take the damn order! _

But he couldn’t _really_ blame the girl. When a Jewish bad-boy with a shocked-blond undercut, two-day stubble, suped-up glamour muscles busting through a (lifted) leather jacket, and a deadly grin leers at you over several empty cocktails, what else can you do?

_Frankly, despite the waitress having no fault in this, she was kindly welcome to go drop her arse on someone else’s boyfriend._

“Hi there, love,” his voice dropped another octave when the waitress slid between the booths.

She leaned over the table right into Steve. Her band jumper was torn up and distressed around the neck, letting her ample cleavage spill through and work for those extra fivers. Her name tag said ‘Gina,’ but the occult tattoos rolling up her arms in complete sleeves, splotchy dye-job, and vampy, silicone plumped lips screamed ‘Sex-Metal Barbie.’

“What can I get you, boys?” she asked out of politeness. Darren could see that her attention sparked only on Steve.

“Can I get another old fashion here? Still a bit thirsty,” he jingled the ice cubes in his glass with a wink.

Darren rolled his eyes, shoved his empty glass to the end of the booth, and willed the goth centerfold out of existence.

“An’ a Rob Roy for my mate here,” Steve quickly added, “Famous Grouse scotch, light on the vermouth, three black cherries.”

Gina giggled at the order, possibly finding the specificity endearing. “Wish my girlfriends knew me like that,” she said with an effortless smile. She wrote it down far too quickly on a loose napkin. “I’ll have those right out.”

When she stepped away, Darren saw her hand smooth over Steve’s shoulder.

He bristled at the sight. Her fingers gripped at the taut muscle, massaging the stress knots drilled in by his engineering course load.

Then she left the napkin there, right in front of Steve. Clear as day, for all the table to see, was her phone number and her name with a little heart over the ‘i’ in ‘Gina.’

Tom clapped his thick-bottomed glass on the table with rounded out laughter. “On the prowl already!”

Alan roused back up from his one-drink stupor, jostled his tragic bowl cut around looking for the waitress. “Did she take our drink order? I want another rum and coke,” he asked in a sleepy tilt, sprawling flat on top of the table once more.

Steve looked over the booth, and Darren just _knew_ he was watching her walk away in those skin-tight jeans. But then, the blond tossed a sly smile to Tom and Alan. He slipped the digits right inside his jacket pocket then tapped it with a knowing look.

And _that_ was the final straw for Darren Shan.

It happened far too quickly for even Darren to register. He hoisted Steve up by his arm, muttered something about him looking like he was about to puke before barreling through the sea of bodies.

He made a b-line for the bathroom, Steve dragging behind and just drunk enough to not want to cooperate yet still too drunk to fight. He yelled to Darren over the roaring crowd; the mix of freshers and bar-veterans erupted every time Hilario blocked a goal, and a string of drunken Yiddish would echo back.

Darren banged on the men’s bathroom door a few dozen times before some scrawny, sloshed looking bloke stepped out with a sour look. He shoulder-checked him out of the way with an unceremonious round of curses, very reminiscent of his football years in secondary school, before pulling Steve in and locking the door behind them.

It was a single stall bathroom, filthy, and reeked only how a public loo could.

“The fuck,” Steve said, squinting his eyes at the harsh, fluorescent lights. “I can hold my liquor, Dare.” He fumbled with the lock poorly, dividing his compromised processing power between the raging, dark-haired man and the doorknob. “How the fuck do you unlock this thing—”

Darren’s greedy hands wrenched into the front of his sweater and pushed him against the door. He pulled the blond down by his collar, slotting his lips between Steve’s in a growl. The kiss was harsh, desperate, and utterly intoxicating. His mouth was cooled by alcohol, and the temperature difference between their set of lips made Darren’s toes curl. He tasted like whiskey and Marlboros.

Steve gave in to the press of the smaller man’s body, latching his hands onto Darren’s arse.

He pushed back, refusing to let Steve have the upper hand in this. He left searing kisses and bites over Steve’s lips, cheek, neck, ear, anywhere he could mark the taller man as his own. He took his time around Steve’s sensitive spots. Darren yanked him down to eye level by the roots of his short, wild hair and sucked deep red bruises into the pulse.

The noises crooning out of Steve went straight to Darren’s cock. “The fuck was that out there,” he nipped at Steve’s ear in a dripping groan.

Steve slipped a hand beneath his jeans, grabbed that arse by the handful, and wrenched him up. “Dunno what you’re talkin’ about, babe,” he growled into Darren’s ear. He tried to negotiate their position, but Darren kept him against the door by angling a knee between his legs.

“That fuckin’ _slag_ you were chatting up,” Darren growled back, grinding into Steve’s stiffy, “one with the massive tits and daddy issues.”

With a biting hiss, Steve returned the courtesy by sinking his nails deep into Darren’s supple body. “Just bein’ friendly,” the words slid over his tongue in a crooked grin.

“I was about to throw my glass right at her damn face,” Darren seethed.

“Oh, cat fight? Never pegged you as the jealous type.” Steve chuckled with that dark edge that made Darren’s heart skip.

“You knew _exactly_ what you were doing.”

Steve just cracked a smirk with glinting teeth and sharp eyes hazed by English whiskey.

Darren sucked in a breath, trying to keep a groan back at the prickling heat over his skin, and shoved him right back against the door. “And then…” he dug down into Steve’s rigid cock once more and relished the pained cry, “you took her number.”

The hands on Darren’s arse just bared down in response, cutting red dents into his flesh. “What was I supposed to do,” Steve gritted, “the guys were right there, babe.”

“And _I’m_ right here,” a hard cock rutted on top of Steve’s thigh. “Not that slag with fake tits and a flat ass, _me._ ” He kissed Steve’s lips softly, letting his knee off just a touch. “And I need you,” Darren slid his hands down Steve’s shoulders and forearms, meeting the hands already latched onto him, _“now.”_

They slid against the door as one and stripped on the way down. Steve’s jacket was tossed to the side, followed soon by Darren’s pants and boxer-briefs.

He sat naked from the waist down in Steve’s lap, rolling his hips into Steve’s while the blond massaged him open.

He spread Darren’s cheeks, dipping his fingers in and out of his hot body two then three at a time. “Shit,” Steve breathed, “you were ready for me. Got yourself nice and open while grading essays? Naughty little TA…”

Darren tugged on the neck of Steve’s shirt and whined into their kisses. “Take it off,” he said, kissing down the abused skin on Steve’s jugular to his pecs peeking from the V-neck.

“You just like scratchin’ up my chest when you ride it,” he teased.

Darren played with Steve’s zipper, looking up into his boyfriend’s eyes with his bottom lip jutted out and a huff.

“Fine, fine,” he caved. He balanced the dark-haired Irishman in his lap and the hem of his shirt gliding over his torso.

Darren drank in the hard lines of his boyfriend’s body. Years of rugby practice, boxing at Mr. Jones’ gym, and building crossbows in his mum’s basement gave Steve built arms, chiseled pecs, taut abs, and a sculpted v-line that led to a fat cock and heavy set of balls covered by tight denim.

Darren made quick work of Steve’s belt, snapping it out of the loops so fast it made an audible crack.

“Eager little cockslut~” Steve’s voice was muffled by the shirt still caught over his head. His coordination had taken a dip in his drunken state, but his hard cock didn’t seem to mind. It sprang up from his fly, pearly pre-cum leaking out and glistening around the head. It stood at full mast, bobbing down to Steve’s stomach by its own girth.

With Steve’s belt still in hand, Darren pulled the fabric over his boyfriend’s head, leaving it gathered at the wrists.

“You know,” Steve began, “It’s pretty hot when you undress me. So impatient for this dick you can’t even wait—”

In an instant, Darren looped Steve’s wrists together in a tight bind and tied them above his head on the doorknob.

Steve struggled once his brain caught up. He gaped at his own bonded hands, tried wriggling them free, then turned his anger squarely on Darren. “Fercockt, Darren! What the hell—!” he stopped at the scene before him.

His old flannel jumper was bunched up between Darren’s teeth, revealing tight abs and a red-tipped, leaking cock. It bounced with the straining shake of his thick thighs pressed on the outside of Steve’s calves. He gripped the base of Steve’s cut dick. It was lined up and kissing the rim of his hole.

“ _God damn.”_

“Steve,” he breathed out in a calm, metered voice. “I’m gonna ride your cock till I’m fucking _done._ And you're gonna sit there, not say a damn thing, and be nice for once.”

Steve opened his mouth only for Darren to violently shut it with his own. His tongue swirled around Steve’s, picking up hints of whiskey. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and a zingy, metallic taste joined the party to the tune of heady growls.

He pulled away, blissed out from the little fireworks dancing over his lips and the warmth thickening in his hands. Steve’s cock twitched in his grip, skirting his entrance like a live wire. The biting and forcefulness of the usually collected Irishmen seemed to excite his body to near painful arousal.

Steve stared back with a devilish smirk and red-stained inner lip. “Do it, then,” Steve taunted and swiped his tongue over his teeth. “ _If you can even take me.”_ He let out a hollow laugh, looking up to his tied hands bundled up in his shirt with mocking pride. “Got me here, but we both know how much of a damn pillow princess you fuckin’ are—”

The words died in his mouth and a sharp, hitched breath took their place.

Darren took him to the hilt in one go. There was no adjusting to Steve’s girth or length, no inch by inch slide, not even a quick and sloppy lube down. He just bit down on the inside of his cheek to not weep at the delicious stretch. He savored the burning pleasure, the feel of getting cracked in half, and the speechless state of his boyfriend.

Then he started to bounce. He brought his arse all the way up, just so that the rim would catch the tip before falling back down and going again. Steve’s cock hit his prostate right off the bat. Darren’s own throbbing prick leaked and twitched with every thrust, crying out as his body went alight in pure ecstasy.

He rode Steve for all he was worth; slamming his hips and fat arse down on Steve’s bollocks and jean-covered thighs. He felt the echoes of their bodies joining fill the room in dulled slaps. It was nearly too much for Darren. Listening to his body wrap around Steve, suck him inside, and then repeat over again forced out a pitiful whimper. This was so wrong, so _depraved,_ so _damn **good.**_

Cheers from inside the bar only reminded Darren of where he was and what he was doing. He was no exhibitionist, but the possibility of drunkard Chelsea fans _hearing_ him take a fat prick up the arse…

Darren clenched down at the thought.

_"_ Shit, babe,” Steve groaned, “squeeze me again.”

He stifled a chuckle, squeezing on the upswing and milking the new tightness all the way down the shaft. “Like that, love?”

Steve nodded back, that trademark leopard grin and steely, blue eyes singing a kind of praise that made Darren go absolutely mad.

He bounced faster and harder on Steve’s length. Their intermingled moans and sloppy kisses joined the sounds of their coupling. Every time Darren impaled himself on Steve’s dick, split nearly in half by sheer size, whimpers and moans escaped. Fuck pacing or taking it slow, Darren was going to ride him into the floor and then make bloody _Gina_ clean up their spunk when he was bloody satisfied.

Darren felt himself closing in on his climax, but that familiar ache in his back and knees tainted his chase.

“Come on, baby,” Steve panted softly in between kisses, “let me do the work.”

The look on his face was utterly serene. He was tied up on a filthy bathroom floor, at the mercy of a jealous Irishman, covered in sweat and pre-cum, breaking multiple laws on public indecency, and yet he just smiled— _really smiled!_ — at Darren.

He started rocking up into the tight heat, and the brunet cried in relief and pleasure. It felt so good to let go, to have Steve take charge and use his body. It would’ve been perfect, utterly perfect if Steve wasn’t a total prick not even a half-hour ago.

“It was supposed to just be _us_ tonight,” he cried when his hips met Steve’s, “you said, you _promised_ — _!”_ He abused his sweet spot on Steve’s fat cock, slicing up his neck and shoulder blades when the pleasure was so intense that it jolted him with oversensitivity.

“I know, I know,” Steve soothed with soft kisses pressed into the junction of Darren’s neck.

“You promised,” Darren mumbled into Steve’s hair, letting him thrust up, “you said we’d just cuddle on the sofa with beer and takeaway and stupid cheesy monster flicks.”

“M’sorry baby,” Steve slurred his words with each thrust, lost in the absolute whirlwind that was Darren Shan. He thrusted upwards to meet Darren’s arse split so damn perfect over his prick. “So fuckin’ sorry,” he groaned into Darren’s dark hair, “make it up to you tonight, tomorrow, every goddamn day, whenever you fuckin’ want— _”_

He felt it then. As Steve thrusted up into his body and brush his prostate, that hot, bubbling core in Darren’s stomach burned. He felt the searing waves, the mounting pressure climbing and climbing till it became nearly unbearable. All at once the nerves snapped and cool fires spread from the tip of his cock all the way through the tips of his fingers. Darren screwed his eyes shut, clutched onto Steve for dear life, and rode it out in an irregular, stilted rhythm. His hole spasmed over Steve’s thickness, milking the shaft deep inside his body.

Darren rode out the aftershocks as an incoherent mess. He came untouched, splattered over Steve’s chest like a tribute to his ability to reduce Darren to sobbing pieces with nothing but his cock. He collapsed on top of Steve. Darren gripped his strong shoulders, keeping himself grounded as the aftershocks rocked his core.

Steve smiled into the crook of his neck, a chortle to his words. “Pent up, weren’t you baby,” he said with a kiss against Darren’s nape.

Darren didn’t even take a moment to catch his breath. “Why’d you have to take her number?”

With a grumble and a few curses, Steve rested his head against his right bicep tied up and out of the way. “I was just having fun,” Steve said. “The guys were right there, she was into me, you looked jealous as hell and _hot.”_

Darren just laid there, heartbeat slowing and refusing to meet Steve’s eyes.

He felt a rumbling groan in Steve’s chest before he whispered, “but maybe I took it a little too far.”

Darren hummed in agreeance, glancing up from the comforts of Steve’s strong pecs to his face.

Steve, in a gentle motion, kissed away the sweaty locks from his forehead. “Sorry, Darren.”

He relaxed into the gentle touch, laying boneless on top of his boyfriend. With his arms slung around Steve’s shoulders, his head lulled on the side in post-sex oblivion, Darren nearly drifted.

But the shallow thrusts in and out of his body rocked him conscious once more. Steve hadn’t cum yet, and each little thrust jolted something within Darren.

Even tied by his own belt and drenched in cum from the chest down, Steve was as love-struck as their first time. He peppered the top of Darren’s hair with soft kisses and rushed gratitude. “So good, so good for me baby,” he murmured with each stutter of his hips. He chased release; scrunched up eyebrows, a clenched jaw, and a desperate cant of his hips, all pointed to his mounting finish. “Gonna fill you up, stuff you so full of me.”

But Darren slid off with a wet pop. His body clenched around the flared crown of Steve’s cock, like he was subconsciously trying to suck him back in. He did miss the fullness; the wet, soothing heat of Steve’s cum filling up his used body was the best part of their after-sex glow.

But that look of utter confusion was more than worth it.

“Gonna suck me off, Dare?”

Darren responded by going over to the sink and wetting a paper towel. He gave himself a good wash down while Steve’s mind kept turning.

“Handy, then?”

Darren dried himself down and wadded up the paper towel. He shot it into the basket with near-perfect form, then shimmied his pants on while whistling the melody to _Lady Evil._

“Fuckin’ let me rub one out while you watch?” Steve’s question sounded more like a plea at this point.

Darren fussed with the new stains on his denim and fixed himself in the mirror to get rid of his sex-hair.

“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re gonna blue-ball me as punishment, then I wank off alone at the flat.”

Darren’s reflection tisked in the cloudy bathroom mirror. He glanced over at Steve and gave a smug little smirk at the sight of his boyfriend: his platinum hair stuck in sweaty strands to his face, his cut arms and pecs flexed in the cruel position they were forced to contort in, cum drying down his abdomen, and his fat, red cock weeping pre-cum as it begged to be touched.

Darren walked casually over to Steve, who became angrier with the passing silence. “Sorry, Steve,” Darren began with his hand already on the lock, “but I’m just having a little fun~”

And with that, Darren unlocked the door and began slowly dragging it open with Steve still attached. The blond shouted and kicked, using his larger frame to keep it in place, but Darren had the door’s center of gravity for leverage. Now, Darren didn’t intend to actually _leave_ him, maybe just scare him a bit and get a little payback for all the girls he chatted up and flirted with even when the guys weren’t around. And maybe it was a little twisted.

But how can you not be just a little fucked when dating the leopard?

He managed to open it by a foot, and the roars and cheers of the bar erupted in full swing again. The harsh, fluorescent lights were replaced with a darkened haze of smoke, and Darren was happy to see that the throngs of people thinned out just a little. Darren contemplated whether he should untie Steve then or let him panic for a bit longer.

“Not too bad of a knot,” an evil whisper trailed down Darren’s spine.

Darren didn’t even have time to turn around before he was pulled back inside and slammed against the door.

“Then again,” Steve added in a dark voice, “you were a shit scout.” He pressed his body into Darren’s, trapping him between the door and his broad chest.

With his cheek pressed against the door and his wrists gripped in Steve’s hand, Darren grunted: “could you always get out?”

“Got loose halfway through, but the show was just so good. Didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

“Gonna punish me, then?” Darren glanced back, getting only a small look at the near manic visage Steve sported.

He leaned into Darren and he felt the grin crack across Steve’s face. “How about you get on your knees,” the words ghosted hot over Darren’s ear, “and suck me off.”

Just as a tingle of sick joy rocketed through his cock, he was pushed to the ground by his hair. With his knees pressed to Steve’s ankles, his head and neck were yanked up and aligned with an angry, swelled tip.

With his hand still fisted into his hair, Steve brought the throbbing head to his lips. He swiped precum over the plushness like lipstick, smacking them with the burning flesh.

Darren stared up at Steve, following the contours of his abs and chest as his mouth parted ever so slightly to take it in.

“Come on,” he purred, “be good for me.” Steve snapped his hips forward and wrenched Darren deeper onto his cock by those dark locks.

He gagged immediately as his throat struggled to take all of him in. He tasted acrid sweat, lube, and the salty tang of pre at the back of his tongue. But the gags turned to moans when Steve bucked his hips in shallow thrusts.

“You like that, baby? Like the taste of your arse on my cock?”

Darren hummed out in response, looking up to him as Steve dragged his mouth along the shaft.

“Come on, you gave me better head freshman year,” he teased through gritted teeth. “What’s her name? Ginny? Jeanne? Fuck it, she had some fat, cock-sucking lips, didn’t she? Bet she’s the type to give out titwanks, just sqeeze’em tight around a guy and let him shoot off in her mouth-”

Darren sucked him down all the way to the balls. Sloppy, guttural chokes drooled out of his mouth, and his gags vibrated up the length of Steve’s shaft.

Steve sighed into it. He thrusted his hips, kept his hands tied up in Darren’s hair, and piston himself in and out his throat at a cruel speed. “Good boy, fuckin’ gag on it!”

Darren’s cock twitched with the praise. The drag and lack of air burned his insides but hearing Steve croon so lustfully over him made Darren buzz. Being the dominant one was fun but being completely and utterly helpless at the mercy of Steve Leonard reduced him to debauched levels of hedonism.

He didn’t need to be forced to deepthroat Steve; Darren took it all like a pro. He sucked him down to the balls, swirled his tongue around the head and lapped up every bead of precum, pumped his hands along the shaft when his mouth slid up and down the hot flesh. He moaned all the while, too. Hearing Steve groan out praises and feeling his body inch closer to release reminded Darren that this was _his_ doing.

Just as Steve’s thighs tensed and his thrusts became less controlled at their break-neck speed, the blond yanked Darren off.

A string of drool snapped from his lips and mixed with the wetness leaking down his chin. He looked up to Steve with huge, green eyes fucked out by lust.

“Stand up,” he commanded.

“What happened to—”

“I said _stand the fuck up, whore,”_ Steve pulled him up by the hair again, kicked his legs open, and ripped his pants down.

Darren felt the head at his entrance for only a second before it plowed inside him. He felt Steve’s balls smack his arse with each thrust. With every pump, Darren’s voice rang out freely. He was already close again. Each thrust pushed him closer and closer to the edge, each obscene praise only adding fuel to the sweet fire in his body.

“Such a bitch for this cock,” Steve crooned. “God, you take me so good, fuckin’ amazing when you’re angry,” he trailed sloppy kisses along Darren’s neck with each word. “So easy too, think I’d actually give that slag any of this?”

“If you did,” Darren reached behind Steve’s head and pulled him close to his face by his hair, “I’d destroy you.”

“Yeah you would,” Steve started to lose the rhythm again. He fucked into that pliant body without abandon, grunting through the buildup of orgasm.

“You’re mine, Steve,” Darren said with an open mouth kiss, holding him there as his prostate was abused over and over again in sweet pain.

“Fuck yeah, all yours baby, all yours,” Steve cried before losing all coherent and intelligible thought.

Darren felt Steve shudder on top of him, then he was filled up to the brim with spilling warmth. He came again on Steve’s cock, the pleasure and strain forcing him to slide down. He began to drift once more. Despite the banging on the door, shouts, and Yiddish swears, Darren fell asleep to Steve’s presence.

* * * * *

Darren woke up in their bed. His head rested on Steve’s pec, and a strong arm circled over his shoulder and back to plant a firm grip on his arse. He peered over to the alarm clock on Steve’s bedside table.

_3:48 A.M._

He stirred under the thick comforter, rousing his lover awake.

“You awake?” Steve asked in a sleep-dredged timbre.

Darren nodded, curling up into his chest and letting his fingers scratch at his stubble. “I pass out in the toilets?”

“Yup, I worked you good,” he chuckled, and Darren fought the urge to bat that smirk away. “Told the guys we both drank too much, and when Tommy didn’t buy it and I gave him the cockwarmer’s number. So,” Steve turned to his boyfriend and smiled, “you’re welcome.”

“As fun as that was,” Darren said, “I never want to spend my Valentine’s eve like that again.”

“You seemed very keen on the whole thing,” Steve quipped.

“Sure, it was fun in the moment,” Darren sighed, “but I really don’t like being angry with you.”

“I’m sorry, Darren,” he said, “I know I pushed it, but I’ll stop. We can tell the guys I met somebody or school’s rough or some shit.”

“I don’t wanna lie to them anymore. Aren’t you tired of sneaking around, hiding our relationship, shagging in secret?”

“Honestly,” Steve said while bringing Darren into a tight hug, “long as I’m doing all that with you, I don’t care.”

Darren nearly melted into Steve. “How can you be such a sweet yet utter arsehole of a guy?”

“Talent.”

Darren gave out a wry laugh and Steve followed suit. They both drifted on their laughter, falling back into the natural position of sleep: Steve spooning Darren with his morning wood slotted between his cheeks.

“I love you, Darren,” Steve said into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“I love you too,” he craned his head back for a soft, chaste kiss on the lips.

“Do you really want the guys to know?”

“They’re our friends,” Darren said, “I want them to know how much we love each other and how great of a boyfriend you are.”

“Wanna show me off, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” Darren admitted.

“Alright,” Steve chuckled and tucked Darren under his chin, “I like the sound of that.”

“So, we’ll tell them?”

“Maybe not _tell them_ tell them,” Steve said, “how about next time we’re out, we act like how we do here?”

“Like you wrap your arms around me, call me ‘babe,’ snog me in a booth?”

“I can do that,” he grinned.

“Can we go back to Seven Star, then? I want _Gina_ to run out of that damn place in tears when she sees your tongue down my throat.”

Darren smiled at the rumbling laugh Steve pressed into his shoulder. He knew the leopard would more than approve of his bad behavior. The soreness spreading over his lower back and the faint bruises on Steve’s wrists, excellent Valentine's gifts, proved that.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please comment, kudo, or bookmark :D  
> I appreciate any and all the love you might have to give~!
> 
> If you wanna chat or talk all things CDF/Starren, hit me up on [ Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nomnomiliy)


End file.
